


and of the things we'll never be (again)

by ThatPawnbrokersShopAroundTheCorner



Series: Snapshots [6]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Gen, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4807634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatPawnbrokersShopAroundTheCorner/pseuds/ThatPawnbrokersShopAroundTheCorner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I wasn't the one who ran away, Hannibal. You were. You were the one who fled when confronted with the truth.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	and of the things we'll never be (again)

**Author's Note:**

> Part 6 of the 'Snapshots' series: a collection/ corpus of connected to each other but not always chronologically ordered drabbles dealing with Hannibal and Will, their fall and what happened before, after and during it. Spoilers for 'The Wrath of the Lamb', episode 3x13.

* * *

The cabin is cool, and Will can still hear the roar of the ocean, remembering that the walls around them are the only protection from the perils lurking outside.

And yet, his gaze is only focused on Hannibal, and the empty – the _sole_ bed – in this room, on this boat. He swallows audibly.

Hannibal raises an eyebrow. “We have shared a bed together before, Will --”

Will nods and takes a deep breath; he doesn't need to hear Hannibal say how they've shared  _more_  than a bed. He looks at Hannibal instead, standing there in his boxers, appearing more human than he ever envisioned possible. Noticing yet again how much leaner Hannibal looks without his pretentious-as-hell suits, how slender and dancer-like his legs are and how his body, just like Will's, is covered in scars. He swallows . “Is it – does it still hurt?”

His eyes are focused on the wound, from that time Hannibal was willing to lay his life down for Will. Or at least, let glass shatter and a bullet pass through him.

“No,” Hannibal says softly, his own gaze lingering on Will's cheek now.

Unconsciously, Will's hand travels up there, to touch at the barely-healed scar, wondering if it makes him look greatly altered. Not that he ever cared about his looks, but he knows it will make them stand out more. He sighs. “This doesn't hurt anymore, either.” And it doesn't.

“I'm glad, Will. I have no more desire to see you hurt.”

Will nearly buys it, because the expression on Hannibal's face is so tender, so open like he's only rarely seen it before (and he doesn't want to muse on these times, because it begins with a knife in his guts and ends with a heart-broken Hannibal leaving his house in Wolf Trap). 

He starts working on the buttons of his shirt, breaking the eye contact, and wonders why his hands are trembling a bit, wonders why he feels a knot of anxiety in his throat.

_(There was none of that the night when their lips met fiercely, hands roaming, frenetic and clumsy as Will sought out the one thing he'd never had from Hannibal: this was his only, his last chance –)_

He begins taking off his trousers, deciding that now is _decidedly_ not the time to let his thoughts wander off into tangents that aren't only dangerous, but tempting.

Of course, Hannibal's words find a way to disturb the peace, because Hannibal is like that: an eternal storm raging at the forts that Will has built in his mind, shattering and crashing them every single time. “Is it difficult to be with me now, Will, after all's said and done?” He doesn't sound angry, but when Will looks up, he does see genuine hurt there.

His throat begins to feel dry, and he has a huge desire to reach for his glasses, just so he doesn't have to face Hannibal anymore. It's only then that he realises that those glasses are long gone, shattered, just like everything else from his old life. “Yes, because we're not supposed to be here.” They weren't supposed to survive this.

“But we are here now, and now it's time to face the fact that you no longer can run from me this, from us.”

Will's eyes narrow at that, and he drops his hands, clenching them. “I wasn't the one who ran away, Hannibal. You were. You were the one who fled when confronted with the truth.”

For a second, Hannibal looks confused, as if he doesn't understand, but then he just shakes his head. “I offered you a chance before that – to run away with me. But you didn't want to.”

“I wasn't ready, and you didn't really give me any choice at all, “ Will snarls and bares his teeth, the anger – the hurt, the betrayal – still strong enough to make him lunge at Hannibal and wrap his hands around his throat. It's not a strong grip, definitely not powerful enough to throttle, but Hannibal still doesn't defend himself, only looks at Will with those dark, expressionless eyes of his.

Still so much in control, still so patronising.

Will hates this. He really does. “You always make it about yourself, but the truth is that Abigail and I were nothing but your puppets. And when we didn't dance to the tune you set for us, you cut the strings loose.”

Hannibal remains silent, eyebrows knotted now, and his jaw tight. He looks tired, resigned nearly.

Will lets go. “I wish you would stop punishing me for that, Hannibal.” His voice breaks a bit, and then he leans in close, placing his head on Hannibal's shoulder. “It wasn't my fault. And yet, I feel that I sealed her fate that day.” He could list every single nightmare, every hallucination he's ever had about her, about that night in the kitchen, but it would never be enough. Because Hannibal would never understand.

  
“A teacup was brought together again, Will. “ Hannibal sounds nearly desperate, his dark eyes betraying him. “The --”

  
“Shut up--!” Rage builds up inside of Will, and he shoves Hannibal away from him. “Do you think that reversing time will undo the fact that you slit her throat? Or that she's lying somewhere, nothing but bones and ashes by now, while we're here playing pretend at the fact that everything's fine?”

  
Hannibal has no answer to that, but that's just fine, because Will does.

“It doesn't work that way. You can't just take back the mistakes of your past, and that this teacup has been shattered forever. As long as you don't see that, as long as you don't stop pretending that we're still the same, nothing will come of us, ever.”

  
He doesn't wait for Hannibal to respond as he crawls into bed. He doesn't care about anything as he pulls the covers over his body. He's said his piece, and it's up to Hannibal to act out on his words – or not.

***

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